


the weight of silence

by Aimerz



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A little bit of fluff, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Dorks in Love, Doubt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, Promises, Victuuri Week, Victuuri Week 2017, but also smiles, but angsty anyways, maybe not so heavy on the angst, sometimes, there are tears, victor realizes he can be a big idiot, victuuriweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 01:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9633494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aimerz/pseuds/Aimerz
Summary: the silence that sits between them is unbearable.[or; in which Victor and Yuuri come to terms with the fact that the ice can't aid them forever when it comes to hopes, regrets, and doubts.]





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is my contribution to victuuri week day 3! 
> 
> i tried to use both Victor's and Yuuri's prompts, which are hope/regrets and reassurance/doubt respectively. this is about them getting through unresolved issues together, and because i can't leave this two without their happy ending, well, yeah. 
> 
> if you find any typos feel free to tell me:)
> 
> hope you guys enjoy it!

The spot next to him in the bed is empty, and Victor doesn’t have to wonder where Yuuri might have gone. He knows.

 

Knows he’s probably huddled on his own in the balcony, gazing blank-faced at the sky of St. Petersburg, motionless; sometimes so pale against the naked blue above him it scares Victor. On days like those Yuuri is disturbingly prone to fading, a ghost and a memory, clear water slipping through his fingers. On days like those Victor lies awake on his bed and stares at the ceiling, always at about to rise and walk that distance between them. He never does.

 

Cowardice, fear, hesitation—his limbs become too heavy and then it’s easier to forget he’s the one allowing nights like _these_ to happen.

 

Victor sighs, runs a hand through bleary eyes and raises himself to a sitting position. He’s one hell of a coward, avoiding conflict and walking on eggshells, tiptoeing around issues that simmer, scraps of embers in a bonfire, but never die.  The golden band in his hand glares daggers at him; a searing reminder of unspoken promises made in front of that cathedral in Spain—a good luck charm, an engagement ring, physical proof of their bond as soulmates.

 

“I can’t keep on doing this,” He seethes, voice hoarse, letting his head fall with a thud against the headboard. “It’s not fair, is it?”

 

The darkness doesn’t respond, but the silence is perhaps worse than a sudden voice materializing out of nothing.

 

He throws the blankets away and braces the cold with his hands hugging his sides, shaking his head when the thought of simply crawling back to bed dares to approach the back of his mind. He’s been letting this sit untouched for way too long, and it is only a matter of time before triple axles end in twisted ankles and petty stubbornness drags them further apart from each other.

 

Because that’s the problem, isn’t it? Two stubborn idiots waging wars and holding the weight of the sky, tongues bitten and thoughts held prisoners. Forgetting neither of them are mind readers; failing at the very basics of communication.

 

Victor makes him cry at the Cup of China, and Yuuri makes him cry at the Grand Prix.

 

The jacket lying around is Yuuri’s; a little too tight on the shoulders, but he won’t bring himself to waste another second searching for his own useless sweater. Their bedroom isn’t that far away from the balcony; however, a couple measly steps stretch into an endless road and it’s only willpower and the memory of Yuuri’s tears dripping down, down, down what drags him where he should’ve been all along—where he should’ve stayed, all those nights ago.

 

Yuuri’s curled up around a bunch of blankets with a steaming mug held between his hands; an endearing sight had it not been for the red swelling at the corners of his eyes, the curl of his trembling lips into a thin line. Victor halts before the glass door; sickening hesitation surging bitter up his throat.

 

It’s always been like this; back and forth, one step forward and two steps back. A perfect landing and the ice betraying him afterwards.

 

Not anymore.

 

Careful not to startle his fiancé, Victor slides the door open inch by inch, keeping a painful grip on the handle until there’s a crack barely wide enough for him to slip through. He wants to pull Yuuri back into his arms; cradle his face and sprinkle butterfly kisses all over his cheeks and murmur apologies in every language known to humankind. However, he’s learned firsthand the consequences of invading—crossing lines too soon, diving careless and without permission—through trial and error; fucking up and realizing murmured _I love you’s_ aren’t always the answer.

 

A love confession is not an apology, but Victor had been mixing the two up long enough to fool himself into believing a flower-printed band aid could stop a hemorrhage.

 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Yuuri mumbles and he sounds exhausted; shoulders hunched up, knees drawn towards his chest. He eyes remain fixed far beyond the horizon, everywhere and nowhere at the same time, whispered words dying with the wind that ruffles dark locks that have strayed from the ponytail. “I was, um, going to go back in a while.”

 

“You didn’t,” Victor says, weak and pathetic, and that’s it—Victor’s throat clamps up, his fingers go numb and he can no longer try to reach out to Yuuri; his wilting, pained Yuuri, sitting quiet, still like an undisturbed lake, features frozen in something blank and mechanic. If he moves at all it is to bring the mug to his lips, take a sip, and wrap the blankets around his shoulders when they threaten to spill down the floor.

 

He’s ignoring Victor.

 

Choosing not to speak to him, just as Victor had chosen to take a step back from Yuuri’s inner turmoil.

 

It had been both their mistakes to think the ice was the only bridge they could walk together. The arguments they’ve solved through hearts and souls and sweat poured over their routines are but a few among those that are to accompany them down the road; their bond runs deep but sometimes words are needed to convey what the ice cannot. There’s a difference between a quad flip and what is left unspoken outside the rink. It is only after tears have been shed, voices hoarse and hitched from screaming, that skating becomes their common ground.

 

But _talking_. Oh, if only they’d been brave enough to push a little bit harder; bite down useless pride, cast aside lame excuses and _we’ll discuss this once the competition ends_.

 

The silence that sits between them is unbearable. It’s heavy; tastes like metal—or is that blood from biting the inside of his cheeks?—and wraps around his ankles to sink him down the river crashing through the poorly built bridge that used to keep them afloat.

 

There’s no denying the ice will continue their way to channel emotions— _feelings_ —and let them flow through step sequences and signature moves; but Victor is done regretting what could’ve been said, waking up alone in the middle of cold, unforgiving nights.

 

“Yuuri—”

 

“I keep on wondering why you decided to stay,” Yuuri mutters and finally turns around to regard Victor with eyes that hold no life; ebony turned to stone. “Why you stay with me, every day. I—logically I _know_ why,” His voice hitches, lower lip wobbling; stoic façade cracking at the edges. “But there are days in which I can’t help but—I don’t doubt you, I wouldn’t _do_ that, Victor. I just—”

 

“Stay by my side and never leave,” Victor smiles, melancholic, and reaches out for his Yuuri; distant—almost ephemeral, with an outstretched hand. Cautious, Yuuri slides hesitant fingers between Victors’, squeezing tight and shuddering out a shaky sob. “Isn’t that what you told me? To stay and never leave?” Upon realization, Yuuri tries to snatch his hand away with a forceful tug, hiding his face when tears begin to drip down his cheeks. Victor’s just made him think he was at fault for not _believing_ in him.

 

  _Strike one, Victor_.

 

It breaks Victor’s heart to see him like this; distant, not a man withstanding storms and thunder but one that doesn’t know what to do in the face of one. It breaks his heart to see him blame himself for fearing and doubting and seeking answers in the solitude of naked nights and cups of tea, when the one at fault is Victor. Not him. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve been doing a very good job at that.”

 

Feelings don’t require justification. Actions do.

 

And there is simply no way to justify Victor deciding to turn a blind eye—pretend he didn’t know what was going on when he too has been chased by similar thoughts—to his fiancé’s anxiety; kissing frown lines away the next morning when Yuuri wakes up yawning with bags under his eyes.

 

“That’s not true! You’d do anything for me, and…” Yuuri protests. The mug slips from his grasp and plummets to the floor, shattering. Victor yanks Yuuri to his side before the broken pieces cause any damage. Horror coils around his features; a deer in the headlights. “Oh god, I didn’t mean to—please let go, I need to clean this mess, Victor. Please. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

 

“I don’t stay when you need me to,” Victor shakes his head. When he raises his head to face Yuuri, a sheen layer of unshed tears clouds his vision. “When you come here, and I toss and turn in the bed knowing I should be there—here—with you. But I don’t. Didn’t, because I plan to change that. _I_ am the one at fault, because I didn’t try. You know I tend to fuck up a lot when it comes to this,”

 

“What _is_ this?”

 

“Shouldering your struggles with you, being there for you so there is no need to explode before a free skate,” He clarifies, tugging Yuuri closer to his body. Something breaks loose, then. Yuuri nuzzles his head in the crook of Victor’s neck, and suddenly they’re both crying; garbling nonsense, shivering, as sobs wrack Yuuri’s back and Victor can only run calloused fingers through his fiancé’s hair. “We’re not very good at it, are we?” Victor hiccups.

 

“We suck at being properly supportive,” Yuuri laughs; sweet and pure and _beautiful_ despite the heavy flow of tears and the throaty voice. Starlight hangs around him like a crown; light renewed and life brought back to soulless eyes. Ducking his head, Victor begins to place wet, sloppy kisses down Yuuri’s jawline. “Will you stay, then?” He asks, gently wiping the tears away from Victor’s face. He does the same for Yuuri, drawing slow circles over his cheeks. “Forever? You won’t—you won’t get tired of me, right?”

 

“Oh, Yuuri, there’s absolutely no one I’d rather spend the rest of my life with,” Victor assures him. He threads their pinkies together, leaning down so their foreheads touch. Yuuri stops breathing—one, two, three seconds; pink blooms soft around his plump cheeks, spreading all the way to his ears. “Pinky promise,”

 

“What about, you know, sometimes I can’t help feeling like this,” Yuuri averts his gaze, brown eyes dulling ever so slightly. “Sometimes I just _can’t_. Even when I don’t want to feel that way. I don’t want to bother you with my problems, Victor. I want you to be happy,”

 

He’s seen Yuuri fly and spin and tell stories on the ice. He’s seen him skating for others under bright, artificial lights, and skating for himself on quiet, rainy days. The little fragments of painful doubt are but a few of many Yuuri has chosen to show him; carefully selected glimpses that don’t last and Victor had pushed aside. All for the sake of performance—for the sake of being a witness to Yuuri’s rebirth at the Grand Prix.

 

Yuuri had told him, once; that such daunting feelings did not begin on the ice.

 

They shouldn’t be forced to end there, either.

 

“My happiness includes yours, _moya lyubov_ ,” Victor leaves a trail of feather-light kisses on Yuuri’s temple, down the corners of his eyes and the swollen lines from crying and tears being harshly rubbed away. “When nights like these arrive, I want to be here with you, and I want us to talk and walk this journey together. I can only hope you’ll still have me when I make mistakes along the way.”

 

Yuuri’s eyes go wide and range from surprised to the fondest look he’s even given Victor; corners crinkling upwards, a smile that’s all teeth and fighting back giggles, and seizes one of the three blankets pooling around him to have it flop over them with a whoosh. A hideout for rebellious little kids playing games and reading comics with a flashlight under the sheets. This moment is now their secret, a story to recall on the darkest nights when they’re just about to fall asleep.

 

“I didn’t spend all those years pining for you only to leave you when things get tough,” Yuuri huffs, poking Victor’s nose with his index finger. At his yelp of indignation, Yuuri laughs. “I’ll stay with you until we’re both old and wrinkly and have to walk with canes. I’ll stay with you even if you grow bald.” Victor pouts; a frown etching on his face because he _is_ a little kid. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to get rid of me, Victor Nikiforov,”

 

“Yuuri, I would never, _ever_ want to get rid of—”

 

“Pinky promise, Victor,” He breathes, threading their pinkies together once more to seal the promise; a vow made in hushed voices, in between sighs of relief and teenager love confessions. Yuuri kisses both their rings full of adoration, and leans forward to place a chaste kiss to Victor’s lips.

 

“Promise,”

 

The ice won’t be able to aid them during a storm, but here they are; hands clasped together, kisses stolen under the moonlight, talking about what used to be a taboo—and Victor knows whatever road they build together will hold them just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> bonus: it's 4 am and they can't go back to sleep, so Victor suggests making waffles as a 'very early breakfast'  
> needless to say they end up regretting such decision next day during practice.
> 
> i hope you guys enjoyed this little thing i wrote for Day 3 of Victuuri Week<3 
> 
> you can find me on [tumblr](//www.theaimerzz.tumblr.com)
> 
> thanks for reading!


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